Indefinite Love
by Grey Blade
Summary: There is always a price. For the small possibility of getting in and out of the lands of the Fountain of Youth alive, what will Jack Sparrow give in return? Err...Sparrabeth
1. Just Trade

**Run! The plot bunny has attacked! But dangit…this will take a long multi-chapter fic, and I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet but dangit it's just too good to pass up. **

**All right, I haven't read the books on **_**POTC: J. Sparrow **_**yet (though I plan to) so thus I barely know anything about Tia Dalma. I mean..yeah I know quite a lot, considering I've watched the movies, but I know nothing about her values, her beliefs, all that shiz, so to compensate for that I will base half her personality on Yuuko Ichihara of xxxholic. I mean they're more or less the same. Yuuko might as well be her in Japanese form.**

**Err…AU in the sense that, I dunno, Calypso decided she liked her Tia Dalma form? **_**Basta**_**, Tia Dalma is here, though it's already set sometime after AWE.**



The oars sliced through the thick, murky water exactly how a knife would slice through butter. Jack wrinkled his nose when it surfaced back to reveal the acidic liquid, more or less, burn through the wood of the oar. The gunk practically ate through it more efficiently than termites did.

He rowed a bit more, determined to go through all the muck and the dirt and the absolute _disgustingness_ of his surroundings, though it was hard to focus on anything when there was something unbearable invading, not only your nose, but all your senses. There were even times when he seriously considered it dug into his soul as well; not metaphorically speaking.

The reek was so unbearable its essence misted through the very air. The water was so thick with slime that Jack could feel it slosh beneath him even through the barrier of the wooden boat. Even the trees were too grotesque to look at. So he had to wonder, through and through, what amount of circumstance led him to be so desperate so as to row through a bloody, godforsaken_ swamp_.

But then he, as much as everyone else, knew that this was no mere swamp.

_Just think about the 'after' part, mate. Just think…oh bloody hell._

A rather large fly decided it was the perfect moment to rest on top of his nose. His lips curled in contempt as he eyed it for a few seconds before he tried to swat it away. For awhile, it seemed to have worked but that was short-lived as it buzzed back on his nose. He tried a second time, flicking his wrist harder, but just the same it flew off then flew back. After that, Jack made no move, remembering that this fly was a part of the swamp and that it was better if nothing in the swamp was disturbed.

He reached the bamboo hut without any other incident albeit there were more flies that found an unfathomable reaction to him. But then, he was after all Captain Jack Sparrow. Any sort of attraction (human or not) shouldn't have to be questioned when it came to him.

Chime bells tinkled as he entered through the string of beads that served as a door of sorts. There was no need to make a search through the whole interior because he found just the person he was looking for in one quick scan.

Tia Dalma sat on an oriental canapé, with her long shoulder-baring gown forming waves and ripples on the floor beneath her. There was the usual paraphernalia of eccentrics laid out messily about. Bird cages hung from every corner of the ceiling, some with real birds, some empty, some holding items that Jack didn't have quite enough, ah, _interest _to ask about. There were, of course, the trinkets that he couldn't name for the life of him; and there were actually others that he couldn't even describe.

But today, there was more incense formed purposely around the voodoo priestess than usual. The air wafted with different colors of the smoke, from lavender to blood red. When a while ago, Jack couldn't breathe because the air smelled to darn bad, now he couldn't breathe because it was a blend of numerous smells that were too bloody good. He had to inhale through his mouth, but even so a metallic taste formed on his tongue when he did so.

"Ah, Tia Dalma." He spread his arms before him in familiar greeting with a crooked smile forming on his face. "Never a bad time for a visit, eh?"

Tia Dalma smiled her eerie smile back at him. "Both you and I know, Jack, that you are never here for a mere visit," she half-slurred her words with a slow, somewhat Jamaican accent.

"Well it's not like you're wrong about that either."

She grinned yet again; revealing teeth darkened with god knows what, showing that she indeed belonged in the swamp. She motioned for him to come closer but he only stayed in place, fidgeting a bit. This didn't surprise her in the least. Even the most fearsome pirate found something to be parallel with her, whether it was the smell or the air she radiated itself. "So what is it that you wish to ask of me today?"

His fingers shot up as a sign to hold a moment before he dug into the canvas bag strapped across his chest. The spiritualist waited patiently on her seat while he dug deeper and deeper, muttering a few choice curses between each object he found wrong.

"Bugger, bugger, bugger_…"_ Of course that word can never go wrong with Jack.

He smiled in triumph when he finally found it beneath a pile of other unworldly items. "This," he declared as he pulled out then spread said item, each side hanging from his respective index and thumb fingers, with the other six straight up. It was the central piece of the navigational charts previously belonging to Sao Feng. Tia Dalma only smiled wider.

"Y'see, I've come across a bit of a…an inconvenience on my quest for the"-he paused for a mere second, debating whether or not to relay the purpose of his journey, but then decided it was Tia Dalma after all. -"Fountain of Youth."

"You've anticipated the obstacles that lie ahead then, behind the strange and the witted, beneath the cold and cruel that you only perceive to be the main hindrance."

The corner of Jack's lips abruptly dropped in a frown as he caught on her meaning. "You mean there're _obstacles _behind the obstacles?"

"Surely you didn't think the quest for the Fountain of Youth would be simple?" She smiled knowingly, teasingly in a way.

He found nothing to say. "Ngeeh…"

Of course he didn't think it would be simple, that was his life, the life of a pirate. To have to reach for something without getting a scratch back in return, was too good to be true and for certain one had to question the safety at that point already. But the way she said it, "_cold and cruel_'. The words and the tone, it hinted at something dark and looming perhaps more fearsome than Davy Jones. Now that she said it, he felt in his bones, not fear, definitely, for he didn't fear anything unknown to him, but fearful anticipation.

Still though, the thought of not having to go through a lot of deception and complications but to have to go through twice as much was rather unappealing. As he interviewed those that had attempted the journey before, he had thought he'd gone through worse scrapes than the ones they described and that going to Tia Dalma for advice would be unnecessary, if not useless. He saw now that it was a wise choice.

"Alrighty then," he started, ignoring any traces of the impact her words made. "Assuming, not that I don't completely believe your words, that there _are _rather unavoidable and quote-unquote 'cold and cruel' hindrances that I'd have to come across...Inevitably…what would you suggest I do?"

Tia Dalma stood up. The colored air that formed itself around her seemed to make way, subtly drifting clear of where she stood. "Suggestions, advice, counsel, whatever I give away, in the end, will always originally have belonged to me."

Only vaguely seeing her point, Jack nodded.

She stepped closer to him, gazing deep into his black eyes with her own mystic soul. She matched the intensity of his gaze, with the depth of frightful knowledge contained within her own eyes. "When was the last time I gave something to you out of the goodness of me' heart?"

Jack's eyebrows knitted in confusion, and then it dawned on him. One way or another, no matter how it started, Tia Dalma had always benefited from whatever favor he asked of her. Now she had absolutely nothing to gain. She was a free goddess, only making her residence in the swamp for the mere…what? Nostalgia? Entertainment? Now that that bit of reality had reared, Jack could see that he had entirely nothing to give to her. At least nothing he thought she'd want. For all he knew, the whole conversation they just had could cost him all of his loot.

"Name whatever you desire, and I'll give it…so long as it's not something I don't want to give," he tried coolly.

The goddess stepped back, with the same knowing smile that was starting to nag at his nerves. "It's not a matter of what I want or what I don't want, what I need or what I lack. It's a matter of price."

Jack said nothing trying to decipher what she meant by that.

"My reliable guidance, your resurrection due to me, all that I 'ave given you; was it not of equal price to my freedom?"

"Well," he said. His eyebrows furrowed as the exchange took another turn. He wondered where this all lead but found it wise not to ask straight out and instead, just let it play before him. "I would definitely think so."

She sat back down on her canapé. "It is all about just trade."

And finally, Jack was able to smile in realization. "Just clean business, eh?" He clasped his hands together before spreading them before him whilst slightly leaning back, a pose not uncommon for him. It was his way of saying he was more than willing to negotiate. After all, he always found a bargain that didn't take that much out of him, anyway. Goddess of the sea or not, this trade-off wouldn't be any different.

"Well then, what would be a fair price for any of your services that would benefit me on my near expedition for the renowned _Aqua de Vida_?"

But instead of naming a price straight on, she inquired: "All that is given from his swamp, willingly or forcedly, will cost a price of equality. It should neither precede or fall behind; nothing more, nothing less.

"Without coming to me, then you would most definitely perish in the lands of the Fountain. With my counsel, you will either die or not die. What do you think would equal your indefinite life?"

"Or my indefinite death," he muttered under his breath. "Well, how about, I give you the eternal service of a servant that's drunk from the Fountain? What's say you?" He flashed a grin at her, hoping this would be enough.

She chuckled good-heartedly, telling Jack that he had not hit the right bargain. He started to browse through the inner workings of his mind to come up with something to satisfy her for now. All he needed was her guidance, at least to heighten the possibility of him getting in and out alive with the sacred water. Perhaps he could find something on the way that she had been coveting for, but as of now he didn't know what that was. Just one…just one measly piece of her powers and he could get this over with.

"Indefinite love," Tia Dalma said.

"Eh?"

The smoke of the incense moved animatedly around her as she moved to lean against fairly threadbare seat. Jack felt some of the birds eyeing him as Tia Dalma continued her unexpected statement. "Through the course of your quest, a guide I 'ave sent will lead you through the preferable paths.

"In return for this," she carried on. "I want you to bring with you the keeper of William Turner's heart"

Jack said nothing and stared at her with his eyes wide and mouth agape. He was certain that she was making a mockery of him but aside from the usual playfulness in her eyes, it didn't seem that she was anything but serious.

**I fail! **

**I fail at dialogues. Gah, I don't think I did so well on this chapter. I'll edit it later when I have the time.**

**0: Anyways, just a note/warning; all the meetings/encounters with Tia Dalma might have the nature of the awesomeness that is xxxholic (pssst…you should watch it).**

**Lol, I still need to study for exams and shouldn't have been doing this in the first place. But I couldn't resist writing at least one chapter so I snuck this in while no one was looking. Next update will be next month when exams and results are done but here's to hoping I can sneak in another chapter again. ;D**


	2. Homicidal Dates

**Zomg, I'm done! Exams are done, thank god, so I can finally post a new chapter. Although the main purpose of this one is to introduce a new character. I think this chappie is consistent with my murderous mood today, though. Exam results just got sent in. Thank you, school for the wonderful Xmas present (shakes fist at administrators).**

**Merry Xmas, y'all.**

 8 

She awoke bleary eyed and foggy-headed. The numbing darkness gradually ebbed away from the center of her vision until it only dimmed its edges, though everything was still a bit blurry. A groan escaped her lips of its own accord. What happened?

She remembered so little of her last conscious moments before…what _happened_? There had been lights, many of them, glowing in the air about her. It was nighttime; was it still nighttime now? It was hard to tell considering everything around her was artificially dark. And…she had been with someone and she had been having a glorious time with him. She knew, for a fact, that she had never laughed so much since her _Mami_'s death. They had been walking, and then he led her into a dark alley righted between two taverns. She recalled being scared and her heart racing a million beats because she was still a virgin. And then…nothing.

And then she was here, waking up to brown darkness and a muddled mind. God forsake, this was many times worse than a hangover. Certainly there was nothing worse than the frustrating fuzziness in her head save wearing a corset. …She was wrong.

The feeling in her body started to come.

More groans sounded, but this time, purposeful. Her limbs ached and felt overstretched. And that's when she realized she was suspended from the ground, bound at the ankles and wrists. And there was something…Her head. There was a large amount of pressure applied to her head, as if a rather tight band made for a child had wound itself around her instead. But thank the heavens; at least it wasn't a corset. With that she couldn't even breathe.

But the concept of the matter itself: the tied limbs, the shackles, the mysterious date, the unknown location, _everything_; it was ten times worse than her physical situation. It gnawed on her in the form of a pounding fear confirming an unknown entity watching her every move if not completely manipulating them. Her breathing came in rasps as a dreadful fact only truly sunk in now; she could die. Her breathing worsened when she realized with horror that the binding on her head was slowly but surely tightening.

She gasped silently when she heard the unmistakable sound of locks unlatching from across the room. By the sounds of the echoes that followed it seemed to be a large room. The door groaned in protest as it was slowly swung open. No light came from the other side of the entrance; it was as dark if not darker than where she was now. But there was no mistaking the figure of a man standing under the doorway. Tall and lanky with slick black hair. He was so unambiguously someone she knew. Someone she had just met.

"John?" She breathed in revelation. How could he? Didn't he enjoy their date as much as she did? But then, even as she wondered, more memories slowly started to come back; a tall, skinny figure swinging at her face with a jagged piece of metal before she passed out. But surely…

"John?" He finally said. "Surely you don't think I'd give away my actual name."

She trembled within in her shackles. His voice...it had been so warm that night (this night?), it showed her the endless warmth and joy he offered. She heard so much in his hearty laugh. He had enticed so much of her with his deep tenor. But now. Oh dear Lord, just hearing his voice made her pray many times inside her head, begging to let her survive this. His tone was so chilling, and she could hear the leer buried indiscreetly within. It was cold and, worst of all, cruel. Her body screamed to be let free. She just knew, already from that voice that he didn't return her feelings after all. Her mind screamed: _killer! _The band around her head tightened.

"Why?" She gasped out. "How could you do this? We were having such a good time!"

"A good time?" He whispered, but not soft enough for her not to hear. She wished she hadn't said anything. He seemed angered. "Do you think someone can have a good time knowing he is laughing with a person whose mouth he wants to drive a jagged piece of bloodied knife into?" His voice grew louder, but it retained its corpse-like qualities.

"Wh-what?" Now she was utterly perplexed. "Whatever did I do to you?-"

"You laughed at me!" He screeched. She was taken aback and had to withdraw her head on instinct when she saw a glimmer of metal swing brashly towards her. Lucky. She had been lucky because now it really did seem to be that bloodied knife he was talking about. "Whatever did you do to me?(!) You mean to say you don't even remember!"

"I..I'm sorry," she said, hoping it would calm him down. In all honesty, she didn't even know what he was talking about. Yes she did laugh in good jest _with _him during their time together, but surely he wouldn't be mad about that.

"You don't even remember, do you?" He screamed even louder. A box appeared to have been situated below her. He climbed atop it so they could now see at each other's eye level. She felt herself shake even more when they finally faced each other. His voice had told her he was meant for murder, but his eyes, revealed only through their light gleam, confirmed all her worst fears. The eyes of a murderer. He wouldn't care, not at all, that she had a family, her own life, that second chances mattered much. He would kill her with his own damned, cold blood. She has never feared anything more.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She didn't exhale for fear breathing on his face would enrage him; she didn't inhale for fear that stealing his air would anger him even more. She didn't know whether to stare at him or not, either. Every miniscule detail in her movements had to be watched; every tinny wrong move would most certainly mean an agonizing death. But in the first place, she was here for that very reason; his satisfaction out of her dead body. Death.

"Alright then, considering your rather tiny brain capacity to remember things that can haunt one person for the rest of his or her life, I will retell the encounter that has caused you to be in this particular predicament." He leaned towards her. She saw his hair, his real hair, not the wig which she now realized he had been wearing before. Now it was loose, shaggy and somewhat thinning; slicked to the side. Oh god, was it smeared by blood?

"Y'see, five years, seven months, one week and three days ago, when the moon was in the exact same position it is now, I decided it would be a nice time to walk around near the port. I passed by this club with a window, it was a frosted kind of window and I saw this sickening shade of lemon yellow and I knew it was from the lamps. It was called the 'Broken Bottle' I believe."

Her eyes widened slightly in remembrance. It was her 18th birthday and she and her cousin decided to go out for their first time ever drinking. The _Broken Bottle _had been where their parents first met in a double blind date so they decided to commemorate that. The light of the lamps did seem ghastly at the time but she couldn't remember the details. They had taken a table near the window and…There had been a boy; a little younger than here by the looks of it. He had passed by; tall, lanky, skinny, thinning hair, frightfully ugly. _You laughed at me! _Oh dear.

"You were there! You _laughed _at me! You didn't even KNOW me! Why would you laugh at someone you don't even KNOW?! How could you? How could you? How could you?" He was in hysterics rashly swinging the brown and red stained knife. The air whistled wherever it sliced, magnified by the echoes that bounced in and out of the large room. He transformed completely before her eyes. From the calculating murderer, he was now the crazy homicide. She eyed the knife in his hand, hoping he was watching where he swung it. Wait no; on second thought, she prayed he wasn't even noticing her now.

"I'm so, so sorry," she pleaded. "I was terribly drunk..I-I didn't know what I was thinking."

"Drunk? You DARE lie to me, you bitch!" He screamed. "There wasn't _anything _on your table! _NOTHING!"_

"_He's mad..horribly mad." _The thought raced through her head, unable to stop. It raced frantically, running and running at different intervals, different speeds. This was it then? If his madness couldn't be stopped then what of his intent to murder her? She closed her eyes, feeling tears sting their corners. Her M_ami_ came to mind, joyful and on her deathbed, but smiling, still smiling. And her cousin, too. Her only sister at heart, still was despite only having seen the last of her before her wedding six years ago. Her _Papi_ was there too, buried in her memories. Was this what they were talking about? Your life flashing before your eyes before your very death? She wished not.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, sincere, but it wasn't directed at this wild man in front of her. It was directed at all the regrets she's never had the opportunity to right. This was this. This was death.

"_Sorry_?" He held up his knife well above his head, with the point unmistakably aimed at her head where the band tightened even more. She squeezed her eyes shut with a muffled moan leaving her lips. The air hissed as the tip of the blade pierced the gap between them as it went. Closer and closer…faster and deadlier…

It never came.

A moment was spent in wondering whether death had finally reached her, or if she was lucky and he missed before opening her eyes, one at a time. The very tip of the blade was, at best, a millimeter away from the bridge of her nose. A single drop of sweat meandered down the side of her face. She finally let out her bated breath; a sigh of relief or a sigh of something else, she wasn't sure.

She risked a look at him. His eyes were narrowed in what looked like annoyance. He was poised for attack but his pose showed that he had been completely interrupted. Interrupted by what, she didn't know. Neither a sound nor a force of disturbance went noticed by her. His attention finally turned back to his victim, much to her dismay. "It seems I am being called by a deary old friend of mine. Please wait for your impending doom while I speak with her, although it could take an awfully long while." And with that, he stepped off his leverage and walked away, his back turned to her.

Freedom? Surely..oh praise the Lord, she was being left to her own devices? She could think of a way to get out of her prison by then. She had a path to survival; that was all she could ask for of this moment. Hope. Thank you, thank you, thank-

"Oh and by the way," he said before walking out the door. He pointed to the cuff on her left hand. "Well, there's a rope tied there. If the cuff happens to open it will get cut by the blade attached to the wall above it. The rope is attached to a wheel and axle which is attached to a rather large rock. If that rock were to fall into the deep abyss which I have not yet measured, the other rope attached to it, which is attached to your pretty head band, will be pulled down with it, causing your band to tighten unbearably quickly. Either your skull will get crushed or your head will snap off I don't know." He shrugged.

"Or if you happen to relinquish the band first before the cuff, the rope to it attached to the rock is also tied to a chain. If that chain were to be set free due to your strap coming free, then certain devices will allow that large blade below you (where I just stood on, if you remember) to swing up and cut off your pretty face. Well either way it doesn't matter, because the wheel and axle I mentioned where that rock is attached is pretty old and is falling anyhow. In about an hour it will detach completely from the wall, falling into said abyss with rock. Please do scream when you're dead because I really must know whether your skull will get crushed or your neck will get snapped," he explained all in a nonchalant manner, with a shrug and a sigh of regret at not having killed her himself. He walked away and closed the door gently behind him. The sound of metal hitting plaster wall rung heavily in the air, roaring and crushing all the space it could take its hands on.

She hung there in the darkness, stunned, her breathing as heavy as lead. Too dazed to move, to cry, to fear the end that hung in the stagnant air. It was then that a creaking sound reverberated across the room, as if to say it was too old to simply hang from the ceiling, carrying the weight of an impossibly heavy object, and that it would rather fall into the endless, unmeasured abyss.

She prayed one last time to her Lord that her neck would snap instead of the alternative. It seemed the quicker.



Elizabeth woke suddenly as if from a nightmare, though she had none, but she _was _unnaturally cold. The moon was still high in the sky. The soft pulse of the ocean still apathetic outside her window. She took a moment to wonder why she had woken during the wee hours of the morning, or during the aged phase of pre-midnight. The date, maybe?

She ticked off the days on her fingers, rewinding through the week. 7…8…9…the 10th. Today was the 10th of May. Her cousin's birthday then. The last time they had seen each other, it was her 18th, a bit before Elizabeth's failed wedding day. She'd be turning 24 today then, no doubt a grown woman.

She smiled wistfully, wishing her dear cousin a happy Birthday, before positioning herself more comfortable on the bed and drowning back into deep slumber.

8 

**Ngya! Finally done! Along with another great arc of xxxholic, which will only serve as more great inspiration for this fic along with, duh, POTC.**

**Note: I do not take full credit for "John." I had to take some references out of **_**Johnny the Homicidal Maniac**_**, err…homicide-wise. But the torture rack (headband, cuffs, rock, wheel and axle, etc.) was already my idea before I read it, so please no bashing. JTHM, in case you were wondering, is an awesome, psychological, smart, stupid, controversial, paperback comic which I DO NOT RECOMMEND unless you're prepared to read it without having your perspective on life changed for the worse.**

**Please state all the wrongness you find here or anomalies that I should fix. Flames are welcome, praises are adored, constructive criticism is encouraged. All of those just as long as you review. ;D**


	3. Rushed Shopping

**Here's a new one for you guys. ^.^ **

**Please enjoy. You know the drill, guys. R&R. Flames, praises, constructive criticism..all are welcome.**

**8******

_**Tap tap tap tap**_

_Who knew really? Who knew that running would be such a dire task?_

_The '__**tap tap tap**__ping' of her boots were prominent against the unseen floor. There were no walls, no restrictions, but even so the sound echoed so vividly as if it was actually bouncing off a surface. Never has it seemed like the most horrible sound one could imagine. There was only that and nothing else. __**Tap tap tap**__. It did not pierce the silence, the way a falling pin within a silent room would, it wasn't that kind of sound for the right kind of atmosphere. It was the kind that engulfed the whole silence with its chronic note, completely eating it away. It was deadly and hateful and crushing._

_That and the nothingness. The nothingness enveloped her as well. It suffocated her; though it was the largest piece of space she's ever had the opportunity to stand-run-in. She had no idea what it actually was. It wasn't darkness. No, in darkness, the flame of a candle would shine its brightest. Not here. Here nothing would shine, not even twinkle. _

_And there was the most basic question to address. She couldn't figure out, for the life, love and world of her, why she was running in the first place. The way she saw it, she wasn't even moving at all. Yes she was gasping for air; yes, she felt her lungs about to burst; yes, she felt the painful stitches at her side, but it's seemed as if she's done nothing else in her life but run. She felt all those and more; actually, there didn't seem to be a point to this running. But she ran on, anyway. _

_Well there was one reason. Deep inside her, she knew that it was the only reason she kept going forward, but she was not prepared to acknowledge it yet._

_It was hope. _

_But she had turned her back on hope, relying only on faith and trust. Hope equaled disappointment in many aspects. Many have always contradicted her that faith was the same, but she didn't think so, because faith meant putting everything on the line for a person. A person worth having faith in is a person worth forgiving, not being disappointed over. Hope and faith, more or less, contradicted each other in essence._

_But now all she had was that deep concept she's stood against through all these years. She couldn't exactly have faith in herself; it was much too self-serving if not complicated. So yes, she knew there was nothing else but hope, but that didn't mean she would acknowledge it._

_So she did the only thing she could do. She continued on._



She blinked once...Twice, and was met with the most unexpected though most predictable sight of all.

The ceiling.

Of course it was unavoidable to look at it. She had been lying flat on her back when she fell asleep, even when she awoke in the middle of the night last night, and, not being a shifty sleeper, expected to be in the same position when awakened. It wasn't like she could control the first thing her eyes meet anyway.

It was made from rosewood, she vividly remembered the carpenter telling her. The ceiling was fairly old, worn out from the endless mites that couldn't dare to stop bothering it. Lines of aging surfaced more vividly against the dark earth color, rivers of endless history brought out for the world to observe. And it wasn't just that. There was an antiquity to it. You just knew, somehow, that something belonged in the past because of the air it carried around it. It wasn't the dust motes, it wasn't the fragility. It was just there.

Elizabeth sighed, feeling slightly ridiculous. She was never one to observe the trivialities of life such as ceilings. Certainly not ceilings. Amongst others, she loved looking at the sky, the ceiling of the world. She doubted heavily that that counted. But this morning, it seemed such a good enough distraction. It had color and light bounced off its wooden surface; it had the memories of others and would give light if lightened aflame. Unlike the darkness.

She remembered the darkness quite well, along with the fatigue and aimlessness. It was a curious sort of dream, now that she dwelled more on it, but at the time, it was all too real and all too menacing. It was a nightmare, no more than that, so obviously she shouldn't let it distract that much. She allowed herself to spare a few seconds to think about it but nothing more. …

Even so she didn't feel like running today.

Her hand grazed across soft skin as she made a move to get out of bed. Involuntarily, a smile graced her lips as she looked to her left and saw whose lovely skin she had touched.

Her son laid perfectly asleep, as heavy a sleeper as she once was. She could see in her mind's eye his eyes rolling beneath eyelids as he took in the fickle dreams one should have as a baby. Her hand never left his cheek as she began carelessly running it across the rest of his face, careful not to wake him. Her wistful smile could only grow wider with each second that passed just looking at him. William Turner III; it was such a fitting name. Even at just four years old, he already showed his father's spirit. They shared the same face, too; same nose, shape of face, strong jaw. The shade of hair, she was unsure of, being a mix of honey brown or dark chocolate but in the right angle of sunlight, a dark gold like hers. But Elizabeth was secretly proud she and her son shared the same eyes.

After a few minutes of Elizabeth aimlessly stroking her son's face, she reluctantly got up and got dressed, leaving her Will to sleep some more.

She made a direct beeline for the kitchen, careful to avoid the steps that creaked. She thought of breakfast, seeing the sun still young in the sky. But this turned to be a dud, as she opened the cupboards and found them nearly empty of anything useful for a good meal. Some parsley remained, and a whole square of cheese given to her from a kindly milkmaid. The last bottle of milk had been drowned greedily by her son the previous evening. The essentials such as salt and onions, where sitting soundly on a nearby shelf.

Elizabeth mulled over this for awhile, with her hand hovering on the cupboard handle. If she were to shop very, very quickly perhaps? And risk leaving her son alone…where they lived very near a cliff…

She _could _wait until he wakes up, and then take him with her to the village. But knowing his appetite, the chances of him not throwing a tantrum at being peckish was next to impossible.

She looked back to the staircase, shifted from there to the bedroom door. Her upper teeth moved to bite her lower lip. Obviously, she was torn. After one look at the cabinets (and an audible stomach growl), she took her money purse from the tabletop and briskly walked out the door.

A feint breeze met her as she walked out. Despite herself, a smile touched her lips at the sight of the world outside her house. A beautiful blue graced the skies, reflected by the ocean, as equally ethereal. Flecks of gold still flitted in between the ivory clouds, the remnants of what could only be the sunrise. There was a very minute regret within her at missing the sun's glorious rise. But it was, as said, minute.

She allowed herself a look at the deep throbbing of the ocean, how it seemed to sway…mockingly so. But she dismissed whatever notions she thought she had conjured, as quickly as she acquired them.

Elizabeth looked one last time at the open surroundings before making sure to lock the door, and also checking if _the _key was in her pocket. She confirmed its presence when the door key tinkered clearly against it. She trudged downhill to the village. It wasn't a long walk. Reach the slope base, follow the path. Simple enough directions, really. It wasn't so far that it would be an arduous journey, nor was it too near. The latter she was thankful for; she needed the exercise.

As she passed below the stone arch depicting the name (_We welcome you. Sandford Village)_, a flurry of familiar waves, smiles and greetings came over her.

"Why good morning, deary," Edna, an elderly florist greeted. She was tending to her flowerbeds with surprisingly strong fingers, strong for a woman of her age.

"Good morning, Edna," Elizabeth greeted back.

The old woman furrowed her eyebrows as she realized the sight before her. She squinted a little, increasing the crow's feet that, more or less, sagged beside her eyes, just to make sure she wasn't imagining things. "Where's little Will?" She asked, then added laughingly. "Why, you always have him with you I'd thought he was actually glued to your hip." She burst into hysterics.

Elizabeth joined her in laughter, just a little. …

What was _so _funny?

She walked away, waving one last time. Her journey to the grocery was laden with the same smiles and inquiries as to why her son wasn't with her. She should have expected this. Everyone must have been so used to seeing them together that the sight of them separated surely must've been unusual, if not unnatural. But putting all those aside, her walk to the small village grocery was undisturbed.

Located within the town square, the building was as quaint as the village it resided in. It kept with the rest of its surrounding's rustic aesthetic; wooden, old and decorated with simple yet lush flowers. The store owner was already outside, watering them for the day. He was an Indian, from the southern lands of Asia. Supposedly, he was a slave that stowed away on a merchant ship, only to land himself here in Sandford just the same as Elizabeth did nearly five years ago. Of course, he didn't reveal his true name to anyone.

"Good morning, Ronald," she said cheerily.

"Good morning, madam," he replied with a tip of his hat, his tone rich with his heritage's accent. "What may I do you for this fine morning?"

She didn't wait to be let in, walked in herself. Ronald politely followed suit then made his way to the counter to dutifully wait on his customer.

Elizabeth took a quick look around. She'd only get the immediate necessary things then be off. The other goods can be taken later when Will's awake. After a quick scan she decided to make bacon and fried eggs for breakfast. Will was a big fan of eggs. Onto the counter went strips of pork, four fresh eggs, a full bottle of olive oil and two bottles of milk. Ronald raised an eyebrow at the few number of items, opposing the usually many Elizabeth got when shopping, but respectfully asked nothing.

He put them all in a canvas bag, checked the prices. He was careful with his arrangement, frustratingly so. Elizabeth was in a hurry and didn't need for him to be _that _careful. She knew he was only doing his duty, but even so.

He finished the usual time, but it was increasingly endless for her. She smiled gratefully at him and got the bag. "Thank you, Ronald."

"No, thank _you, _madam," he replied, the trademark hat tip. "And you'd best be careful."

"Why is that?" She withdrew from her steps, about to turn to the door. Her interest piqued up at the ominous tone he used.

He leaned closer to her. She did the same. He whispered into her ear. "There's been a report of murders, higher than anything before. A lot have gone missing, but the bodies that _were _found were..ah, what's the word?...Mutilated."

"That's dreadful," she breathed, true concern chiseled on her face. Concern, of course, for others, not for her. She knew she was very capable of fending for herself.

Ronald grimly nodded in agreement. "Even if we do live here in ol' Sandford, well..you never know."

Elizabeth nodded back. "Will that be all?" She said loudly, deviating from their whispered exchange.

"Yes, madam." Both finally withdrew from the counter. Elizabeth smiled politely again, before walking out the door in a hurry. The bag was heavy on her hand but it was nothing she couldn't handle.

Less formalities passed her, already being done. She only had to smile here and there as she jogged. Questions about Will being gone were completely diminished. Except, of course, when she reached Edna.

"Will still ain't with you?" She laughed.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Well you'd better take him outside." Edna looked all around her with a wistful expression. "Beautiful day. My husband used to say something on a time like this."

"And what would that be?"

" 'Cerulean morning and ocean azure' ", she said, fairly declaring, her eyes closed as she went back in time to visit good memories.

"I think it's beautiful." Elizabeth truly did.

"It is, isn't it?"

"Well I really must get going," she uttered hastily. She didn't wait for Edna to make any replies and half-jogged, half-ran to her house. But in her mind the phrase stuck, imprinted in her heart. It _was _beautiful and was so consistent with the beauty surrounding her now.

"_Cerulean morning and ocean azure."_



"Beautiful morning, eh Gibbs?"

Jack was standing at the crow's nest, witnessing the horizon that lay alive and true before him. Colors of the sunrise blossomed from the sun, touching the clouds with pink and gold. This time of the day, the magnificent instance wherein the night is pushed back and the dawn takes over; it was his favorite time. It was the proof of his freedom..

But he knew, with some displeasure, that all the beauty, splendor, glory or whatever it was he was observing, would be inevitably and annoyingly, shattered.

**8******

**Done. ^.^**

**In all honesty, I was supposed to upload this sooner, but it's one of those instances where you typed something really long, all your creativity is poured into it..and then it disappears. Long-story-short, my file unfathomably became "unopenable", didn't have a backup (yeah, smart) so I had to start a new one for this chapter. TT3TT **

**Ah well, I think this is, in some ways, better than the original one, except the latter part of Elizabeth, I think it feels rushed.**


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